


Alligator Blood

by Bayyvon



Category: First Holy Cummunion and Other Obscene Sacraments (Comics)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Natural Born Losers - Nicole Dollanganger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bayyvon/pseuds/Bayyvon
Summary: “ He’d always hold my headUnder the water a little too long‘cause he wanted me to beall guts no glory‘All survivor, no guilt’ he saidbut he calls me ‘his crocodile tears’while I’m chained up to the bed,”
Relationships: Emilein Tiefer/Jehan Prêtre
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	1. Poacher’s Pride

* * *

_I shot an angel, kept it in my backyard_   
_Hung it out to dry on the clothing line_   
_Pinned above my bed like the cross of Jesus Christ_   
_On the wall_

* * *

The air is thick with heat, heavy and wet as it settles in Jehan’s lungs wrapped in a deep heaved sigh. The shops are busy today, the smell of blood cutting sharp against the smell of death, of livelihood, of _him_. Emilein has his arm draped across his shoulders, heavier still than the humidity, wafts of smoke and sweat and spice, the aftertaste of him sticking to the back of Jehan’s tongue like a promise. _Parrain_ holds up a necklace that settles nicely against his chest, claw stretching towards the scar that lives down his belly. He likes it, he thinks. A bracelet of teeth joins the necklace as they thank the taxidermist in straight cash. 

A truck a lot like theirs is pulling up as they are pulling away, a 'gator flopping weighty and lifeless down onto the tailgate, eyeing Jehan with an open, smiling maw that made his eyes flicker towards Emi, who is crawling a hand from the gearshift towards his thigh with the same smile. “C’mere, _p’tit_.” All predator, pawing at the supple skin. “Gimme a _kiss_ , hmm?”

Em has his cock out before they’ve even left town, and Jehan’s heart rate spikes. Towns _talk_ , what if someone saw, or heard, or even just noticed that Emilein always stands a little _too close_ , or touches him a little _too long my, that poor boy, having to live with a man of **that** nature no wonder he’s so quiet, lord help him._ Emi pets Je’s head, dragging his nails across his scalp in the way that makes him prickle, sucking a little harder as the road becomes uneven beneath him, forcing him to sway and bob in an unorthodox way that makes _parrain_ growl and swear and finally jerk him away to spill across his swollen mouth. 

Their home sits quiet, set far back in the trees, further back than most would dare to go in the marsh. Their own little piece of the world. It’s small and homely, pushes right up against the edge of the murky water. The ground is soft beneath their feet as they trek towards the door, their new angel slung over Emilein’s shoulder like a rag doll.

By the time that Jehan's got her tied up and strung christly on the wall, Em has stripped down to a white shirt and his briefs, reclined in the large chair nearest to the small fan that's mostly just succeeding in circulating the same wet, hot air. He's got a glass of scotch in one hand and a smoke burning in the other when Jehan comes back in, shirt being peeled over his head, and billowing shorts are dropped and leaving him bare, save for his new jewelry. He lands demanding in Tiefer's lap, lanky little arms draped across his _Parrain's_ shoulders and huffing as their skin sticks together where it touches. " _Thank you_ for the gifts, Emi." It's sarcastic, all sixteen year old snark and dripping with contempt. 

"You wanna _**thank** me, huh _sugar?" The older man blows a single smoke ring, before stubbing the butt out on the small of Jehan’s back, angular little body writhing in his lap as he sips from his glass, indifferent. The butt lands in the overflowing bucket near his boots, and Em straightens up, abandoning his drink in favor of turning the boy’s head to look at the angel, blonde hair hiding her sniffling face.

_Jehan spots her from a few booths away, she’s smiling at a salesman, sunlight dancing across her pale skin. Emi follows his line of sight, and grips his shoulder a little tighter. “That the one, hm?”_

_With a small nod, he separates himself, approaching meekly._

_“M-ma’am?”_

_She turns her attention on him and his heart skips. Her eyes are beautiful, and he has to swallow harshly to get his mouth working again. “Could I have a hand?”_

“Think _I_ should be thankin’ _you, anje,_ ” A warning disguised as a brush of lips across his jaw and the hand at his hip tightening just this side of bruising. “She’s perfect.”

_Emilein has his arm slung over her, draping his body across her own, as he imitates blindness. The thick black lenses he wears keeps her from seeing his eyes rake over her, waiting until they had gotten to the alley where the truck lay in wait to flick the knife into his palm and pass it against her jaw._

_“Scream, and I gut the boy. Get in the truck_.”


	2. Mean

* * *

_you are the way you always were_   
_you like your cruel games_   
_but I am not so quick to break_   
_I count my gain in blood & pain_

* * *

_Fourteen year old Jehan is chained to their bed, a heart shaped thing Em had found in an abandoned honeymoon motel a few towns over. He seemed to think it was funny, like it was some kind of misplaced gesture of romance. The fan overhead is keeping him just the wrong side of cool as he lay spread eagle on his back, thin sheets dampening beneath him in the stifling heat. Emilein, still in blood stained clothes, is looming over him, knife held firmly, glancing the blade against his inner thigh. His cock flinches, and all he can think is ' **damn you** puberty'. Je can feel the heat of his high plained cheeks flushing the most mortifying shade of pink. Tiefer does not let it go unnoticed, raising a brow and curling his lip into a sneer. _

Tiefer has his face pushed into the warm splintering wood, gravel embedded in the soles of his boots scraping raw against Je’s tender, sensitive scalp. He writhes beneath _parrain_ , nails biting the insides of his palms, cuffs tinkling softly where they collide. 

“Lick.” Emilein snarls, pressing down harder, jagged edges of the rocks coaxing the thinnest layer of blood to bloom across his scalp.

Jehan’s tongue flicks out, eyes cinched shut and trying to loose himself to the pain, long broad strokes to clean the cum from the floor as quickly as possible, daring to glance up and meet Tiefer's burning, almost disgusted gaze. He lets out a soft whine, the sweat rolling down his face to pool along with the trail of drool he's left behind.

" _Bon garçon,_ " The praise runs down Je's spine like honey, spreading like a distant tingle into his limbs before settling warmly in his belly.

_“If I didn’t know better, p’tit, I’d say you’re enjoyin’ this.” The blonde man drags the tip of the knife up Jehan’s shaft. “Hm?” He applies just enough pressure to the head of the boy's cock to make it twitch, and he smirks._

_“N-no,” The warmth pools low in his belly, mingling with the thick blood that runs after the blade as the knife glides across his hip, the new red lines weeping crimson as they run in tears._

_Tiefer lavishes his tongue across the cuts, peering up at Jehan who squirms, cheeks running pink and teary eyes holding his gaze._

_“No?” Tiefer grins wickedly, mouth dripping red as he takes Jehan’s cock in hand. “Lil liar ‘s what you are,”_

"Now **apologize**." The older man snarls, jerking his boot away and distancing himself from the pathetic scene.

"I'm sorry, Emi," Jehan pants as he sits up, cheeks flushed, and cock still standing proud, achingly hard even after all that. 

"For what?"

"Cumming," His eyes are glassy now as he curls around Tiefer's leg, and he earns a cupped cheek. He basks in the touch like a gift, hands scrabbling to curl around the older man's wrist.

"Good." Emilien snatches his wrist away and lays a heavy handed smack across the boy's face, and waves towards the kitchen. "Go. Clean up. Dinner. I don't care, just make yourself more fuckin' useful, would ya?"

Jehan scrambles off, sighing. "I'll go hang laundry..."


	3. White Trashing

* * *

_inherited your dad's crazy eyes_

_history repeats our whole damn lives_

_yeah this place gets old but it's really hard_

_to scrub the dog piss out of a white trash heart_

* * *

The cans clatter dead off the porch banister, adorned with bb holes and grip indents as they meet their fate in the overflowing bin beneath, Emilien reloading the shotgun with a practiced ease. Jehan is sprawled at his feet on his belly, a soft creme skirt barely brushing the tops of his thighs, feet tossing back and forth in their frilly socks, little pink cami creeping up his back as he shifts restlessly. He spins the bright red sucker between his thumb and forefinger, lips stained, glossy and sticky with sugar. 

On the days he reminds him far too much of Nathan, Tiefer insists the boy ties his mop into a ponytail and paints his lips pink, wandering around the house in lace edged panties that strain against his cock. Today, they sat on the porch as a _family_. From the worn down rocker, Emilien is able to watch them both. Jehan, lithe and compliant at his feet with a magazine rustling every so often, and the angel, chained to the porch and hoarse from screaming, tears trickling in a steady stream down her cheeks, flinching every time the gun goes off. She tugs at the collar around her neck, for the third time. She’s nearly broken her nails with the effort, and he shoots at her feet to get her riled back up, eyes glassy with tears, and then the screaming begins again. 

“Zip it, _chatte_.” Tiefer hisses around a cigarette, laying the shotgun aside to wind her chains around his wrist and yank her closer, blowing her a halo of smoke. “Or shall I sew it shut?”

She whimpers and deflates, shrinking off the porch and out of sight. She can’t get out, he knows, but. Still. Picks up the bb gun and aims. 

“Stay.  


Where.

I. 

Can. 

See. 

You.” 

He fires towards her with each word, hearing her shriek before clamping a hand over her mouth, dancing around his shots. Her feet are bleeding, grazed by pellets, and he laughs. “Jehan,”

The boy’s head snaps up, blinking doe like beneath his stare. 

“Why don’t you show our new angel to her pen.”

Emilien trusts Jehan enough now to do it on his own, leading her by her chains back into the house, hearing her sniffle and beg to be let go when she thinks he’s out of earshot. 

_Silly,_ he thinks. 

Jehan knows better. Is almost old enough to do it all himself. Old enough to start to enjoy what they do. They’ll keep her a while longer. 

And when they’re done, they’ll hunt. 

He can almost see it now, Jehan curled close with a rifle to his eye, the girl trying and failing to navigate the marsh. If they’re lucky, they’ll get to her before the gators do. And if they don’t? Well. That was fine too. They could watch just the same. Or, perhaps.... they could try something _new._

What did it matter, really?

No one would find her anyhow. 


	4. Swan

* * *

_He raised my hands in the backyard_

_He taught me to be a good shot_

_You love the sound of sorry_

__Even when you know I am not_ _

* * *

_“See, Je?” Em asks, hot breath ghosting across Jehan’s already damp neck. He stifles the shiver that wants to run down his back. Straightens and shuts one eye, raising the sight to his other._

_Jehan nods, and pulls the trigger._

The recoil cracks down his arms and settles in his shoulders, comfortable, like it’s learned to live there. The bullet whistles through the trees, and lands with a thunk. The air around him is sticky, and the bugs that land on him stay there, much to his distaste. 

_The first thing he remembers is being dizzy, staring up through a haze of tears at the swirl of trees and sky and **fucking christ that hurt!** And then Emi, uncharacteristically tender in his gaze, and his touch, pulling back his shirt collar to peer at the already forming bruise. He presses a cautious thumb against his collar, dragging it slowly to his shoulder, pressing up quickly and forcefully to relocate it. _

_Jehan screams, startling the birds from the trees above, the plain blurring his vision until he swims in darkness._

“Fuck,” Jehan gripes as he runs his fingers over the bullet hole that marred the bark of the tree a few yards from where he’d shot. 

“You’ll get one, sweetheart.” Tiefer sighs, rolling his shoulders and straightening his back. He lights a cigarette, and begins to gather their belongings into a worn green backpack. He tosses it towards Jehan and jerks his head up. “Let’s get higher, hm?”

_When Jehan wakes he’s in bed, a makeshift splint keeping his arm tucked to his body. He’s sweaty and stiff as he sits up, groaning softly. He peers around the room and sees that Tiefer has a book balanced on his crossed knees, and Jehan is almost startled when he swiftly snaps it shut and stands. As the blond replaces (what appears at a glance to be the Bible Jehan received from his father, shortly before his death), he also fishes a handful of medication from his pocket._

_“Take these. They’ll help.” He deposits them on the bedside table, and disappears, locking the door behind him._

“Hey, Em?” Jehan asks, slightly out of breath from carrying their things as they hike up the hill. 

“Hmm?” Tiefer doesn’t bother to look back, and it gives Jehan the change to work up his nerve. 

He’d never asked before. And wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. The sun beat down through the gaps in the greenery, the humidity making him breathy as he asks:

“Why did you leave the church?”

Em doesn’t speak like until they’re almost up the hill. “I didn’t.”

Jehan has his mouth open, ready to ask _so, what happened?_ when a twig snaps in the distance. 

The blond stops, and holds up a finger. He points to his ear, and then to their right. She grunts in the distance as she comes to a stop, peering around for danger. Tiefer motions for Jehan to come closer, and he does so, painfully slowly until they’re nearly touching. Emi points to a spot in the trees, and that’s when she shifts right into Jehan’s line of sight. 

He fires. And she goes down with a sharp cry, a wet gurgle, and finally falls silent. 

_Tiefer has the boy pressed face first to the brick wall, a hand around his mouth to silence the wet choke of his tears as he lays in strokes with his belt._

_“If you **ever** embarrass me like that again," Tiefer leans closer, growling "I swear to God you won't leave that cage—-“_

_The clearing of a throat startles him. It was Rita. The woman who had cleaned here since he was young._

_“What’s going on here?” She looks between him, and the sniveling child he had up until now been striking with a belt, near the dumpster._

_"Discipline." He snaps, "He dropped a lit candle, don't tell me how to rear my godson, Rita!"_

“Good aim,”

Jehan beams at the praise, watching as Tiefer pulls the doe apart with a knife. 

“Clean shot, all the way through.” 

“Thank you, _parrain_.”

_“I’m sorry, parrain, it won’t happen again.” Jehan sniffles, rubbing his tears away with the back of his hand. He straightens, hiking up his jeans and hobbling off to the car._

_“Sometimes, corporal punishment is a necessary evil,” He says, turning away to rethread his belt through his slacks._ **For the love of all that is holy, please don't tell me she heard--**

_“Emilien, I understand your frustrations, given the.... circumstances of your particular situation, but I can’t let this go, I mean, you teach the children— a, a? a cage?“_

He’s been gripping the knife so hard, he’s cut his hand. The blood runs in rivulets down his arm, and he grips Jehan’s jaw tightly. 

“Don’t ask me that question again. Understand?”


	5. In The Land

* * *

_God as his witness he’ll smile_

_As he watches her bones slide between it’s teeth_

_Never grow old, never grow old,_

_In the land where she’ll never grow old_

* * *

Bullfrogs croak and warble back and forth, and crickets sing songs in the deep evening, front door propped open to let the sweet night air roll in on the barest of winds. The cool air licks across her damp skin as she stares from behind the bars of her cage. Her hands cramp, and she flexes them idly, sitting back on her thighs, as much as the confines of her hell allowed. Her feet had long since gone numb, and her back ached where her burns had begun to heal. She peers around the room, listening. 

They’re still in the basement, rattling around. Sometimes moaning. Sometimes not. Yelling indecipherable insults that vibrate the old wood of the floor beneath her. A chill flashes up her back, and she whimpers when she hears the clunk of their boots up the stairs, the metal tinkling of the chains. 

She eyes the place she was hung upon her arrival. The cross is bolted to the wall, across from a clear shot out the door and to the truck. She tugs at the lock, twisting and bending, trying to warp the metal of the cage, even a little. 

When the door swings open, she stills, and shrinks as far from the door as she can. It’s useless, she knows, but. What else can she do? 

When the boy drags her out by the chain at her neck, it’s rough, jerking her violently across the hardwood. He throws her at the man’s feet, and he lifts her by the hair. She cries out, thrashing her arms, hitting the man in the jaw, and he growls. He throws her against the wall, pushing his knee into her back. 

“Behave, cunt.”

“Fuck you,” She spits, and is rewarded with the smashing of her head against the thick wood. 

Blood trickles from her scalp, and the scabs across her back tug sharply when he wrenches her arms out, and the boy chains her face first to the wall. 

Her shoulders ache where they’ve been overextended, and she begins to cry when the boy cuts the t shirt from her body. Her body trembles and she clenches her eyes shut, preparing herself for what was to come. 

Blood trickles down pale skin, and Em grins, gaze all heat as he watches Jehan work. He carves intricate swirls into her shoulders, that are whipped with a crop until she’s begging for it to stop. Only then does Tiefer relent, waving the boy over to share a deep, smoldering kiss that leaves them both just barely suppressing small, satisfied smiles.

Only when they are empty, is Jehan much more honest in his touch as he smoothes his palms down her blood slick hips. He touches her as if in apology, but finds himself unable to do anything further. He tells her she is beautiful. Even as she weeps, she is ethereal. And it knots and twists something deep in his gut when she looks back at him. She’s gaunt now, much moreso than she was when they’d taken her. She stares over her shoulder at him with blank, teary red eyes through a mass of matted cornsilk. It’s pitiful almost.

Emi is not so kind. Barks at him to quit pussyfooting around and get to it. And when he says he can’t, he’s tossed into the chair, Tiefer putting his cigarette out on the back of Jehan’s hand, and instructs him to _sit, n’ pay-a-fuckin’-ttention._

It almost hurts to watch. The way his hands mar her skin and make her yelp and thrash and scream. He fucks her with the end of a broom, as he heats a lighter. The shrill sound she makes when he presses it to her skin sends chills up Jehan’s back. Tiefer makes her apologize for being a useless cunt, over and over, until he’s bored with making her cry, and makes Jehan crawl to him. He jerks him around until he’s got him by the jaw, tongue out as far as it’ll go, and intentionally cums across the girl’s inner thigh. 

She fights the urge to retch when she feels the boy’s tongue cautiously pat against her skin, and yelps when he’s pushed further between her legs. 

“What?” The man asks, cuffing the boy across the back of the head. “You’ve made it very clear how _pretty_ you think our guest is, _p’tit_. Show her how much. Go on.”

Emilien makes Jehan lick the girl clean, and then drops her onto the floor, tossing the chains aside, and dragging her by her hair out the back door, towards the shed. 

He leaves her there, strung up by her ankles, surrounded by dead things. 

In the morning, they would take buckets on the water, and feed the ‘gators. 


	6. Alligator Blood

* * *

_When i was done - wiped my mouth on his sleeve_

_I fucked the soul of the south but it crucified me_

* * *

_Three Years Earlier_

_The shed is dimly lit by a single bulb swinging back and forth from it’s ancient cord._

_It’s eerily quiet inside, like the world outside no longer existed. Only their breathing filled the void left behind._

_“Do the honors,” Tiefer says around a swig from a bottle too dark to read. “You picked’er.”_

_The knife in Jehan’s hand trembles._

He uses the necklace, the one Tiefer bought him the day they took her, to rip open her thighs, making her squirm and thrash away from him. He holds her steady to his chest, her legs trapped beneath his weight, spreading her wider as they tighten.

“Please!” She sobs, “Just let me go,”

“No.” Jehan says flatly. 

Tiefer is watching from his usual spot, the chair, smoking a cigarette and having a drink. 

“ _Anje_ ,” The older man purrs. His grip on the glass tightens as the girl's blood runs thick across the floor, dark and staining. The way she flinches away every time the boy touches her makes him that much harder. He takes out his cock and slowly strokes it, the girl sobbing louder and struggling harder when he sets aside the scotch and stands. “It’s time.”

_The gator splits wide down her belly, half baked eggs spilling from inside her. Tiefer grabs him by the hair and makes him drink. First from the bottle, and then from the creature. Tells him it’s like their own little version’a communion. It’s heady with iron, like well water._

The girl sobs from where Tiefer has her tied to the work table in the basement. She’s spread wide, blood slick thighs inviting, Jehan moans into his mouth that he wants to taste her. 

_Jehan cleans the blood from the floor, a rag tied around his mouth to keep him from inhaling the bleach fumes._

_Tiefer had taken the gator to the taxidermist._

_The angel was chained up outside the shed. Jehan could hear her milling about, pulling on her chains, and crying. He wonders if she knows._

Jehan is face down between her legs, watching Emilien disconnect her arm from her shoulder with the same ease he cleaned the doe in the icebox.

_Jehan had known for longer than parrain thought. He had seen him tear the angels to shreds, after he’d starved them and beat them. Fucked them with a different kind of hatred than what he’d ever used with him. He had seen Emilien hunched over trashbags and muttering “Anne, stupid cunt, gets what she deserves,”_

_He’d never known Anne. From what he’d managed to piece together, she was Emi’s sister. He’d even found a photograph of her folded up in a singed book hidden in a closet. She was beautiful. But had the same wicked, plotting look in her eye he’d seen many times before in Tiefer. (Who had whipped him stupid when he’d found him crouched at the bottom of the closet “snooping little bastard—“)_

_It subsequently drew attention to the burn scars on his wrists. Jehan wondered about them but never dared ask again. Tiefer’d nearly drowned him in the sink for it last time._

The boat rocks softly against the water the further out they row, gators silently circling, watching, waiting. They knew by now that when the boat was on the water, they got fed. Didn’t much matter what. Sometimes deer legs. Sometimes fish guts. 

The best mornings are when there are two sharp stick wielding men in the boat. Because that meant they got limbs! Always smooth pale and bruised with broken ankles and wrists. 

Further down the water, near the nests crawling with snarling mothers, would float split torsos, hearts punctured. Breasts removed, tossed in at random by the smaller brown haired human. 

The babies get the hips. The place between is knife gnarled. Full of salt and sweet sweet uterine flesh. 

And then they turn around and throw chum behind them as they head back towards land.

_The first time Tiefer had made Jehan kill an animal, he had cried._

_Until the tears had been fucked out of him, right there in the yard._

_“Grow up weak, or grow up tough,” he would snarl._

He had never been there when Emi.... took them apart, and it had stuck with him. Part arousal, part fear. The way he had let him fuck her mouth as he separated her head from her shoulders. Running the edge of the knife along his sides. 

When they return home, they shower together. Kissing and cleaning away the blood beneath heat and steam. They do the closest thing to making love, while black and white cartoons flicker on the television screen. They fall asleep there, in the golden patch of sunshine, sated. 


	7. Executioner

* * *

_Baby, you have to pay in this way or another_

_in this life or in the next._

* * *

They lounge together on the couch, watching the curtains flutter in the afternoon breeze. They’re nearly asleep, when the door falls inwards, and behind it is a man in a uniform. A cop. He’s waving his gun back and forth at them as more and more cops fill the room. Jehan feels claustrophobic, drowning in a sea of anxiety and black Kevlar. 

Tiefer seems unbothered by this, sloughing Jehan off his chest and standing. He raises his hands, though it looks non committal. 

“What seems to be the problem, gentleman?”

* * *

_For as long as we've known each other_

_You've been playing this game with death._

* * *

He doesn’t even seem phased by the red dots scattered across his belly. 

The officers shake a photo in his face of the angel, her name wibbling back and forth, unable to be read. They demand to know where she is, and when Tiefer does not speak, they resort to restraints. And then violence, leaving Emilien spitting blood and flesh on their boots. Jehan can only watch in horror as a woman pulls him back by the arms. He peers up into her face and sees pity, and disgust. 

Once they’re separated the questions begin. 

The female officer speaks to him softly, like he’s a wounded animal that’s going to bite her hand. The thought is rather tempting. “Emi doesn’t hurt me. He loves me. He takes care of me.”

“Where’s the rest of your family?”

“That’s none of your business,”

The woman flips open the file in her hand. 

“Jehan Prêtre, 16, mother died in childbirth, father, death by suicide, you were sent to live with your godfather when you were 8. When you were eleven your godfather was excommunicated, and you were moved here. You haven’t attended school since. Sound about right?”

The woman now sounds cold, and distant.

“Emilien didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Did _you_?” It’s accusing now, the way she narrows her eyes at him like she’s studying every twitch of his face.

“You’re gonna arrest me no matter what I say, so does it _really_ matter, _bitch_?”

* * *

_One day you will be tried_

__On the execution line_ _

* * *

They keep them separate, until the trial. Endless hours of waiting and pacing in the same little box. 

And when the death penalty drops, Jehan vomits, right there on the courtroom floor. 

* * *

_They’ll strap you in & you will fry_

__Like fireworks on the Fourth of July_ _

* * *

Upon shaving his head, Tiefer now looks strange and almost alien, Jehan thinks as he peers at him through the glass. 

* * *

_Baby, you have to pay in this way or another,_

_Whether you can cry_

__Or not_ _

* * *

He feels hot tears roll down his face. A man obscures Emi from his sight, and he can just barely hear them both praying. 

* * *

_Oh, how sad to face the judgement_

__Unprepared to meet your god_ _

* * *

“Last words?” The man asks as he straps him in. 

* * *

_He will wear a rubber coat_

__Shoot lightning through the vital veins_ _

* * *

“Your father sucks cocks in hell.” It’s flat. Lacking. 

* * *

_They think that you emit the light_

__But you only take it in_ _

* * *

And with that, the man flips the switch, and Jehan screams. 

* * *

_The man in uniform will come_

__And he will stick it in the arm_ _

* * *

Jehan is helpless, watching Tiefer’s body shudder through two panes of glass. 

And then with a pinch and a searing heat, he’s swimming in darkness, until light explodes in front of him. 

“ _Dad_?”

* * *

_You’ll scream out for your father_

_And in darkness, I pray_

__You never find him again_ _

* * *

Jehan startles awake, still in the floor, and clutches Emilien tightly, tears unable to stop flowing. 

“Jehan?” Em pets his head softly, unease tightening his grip. It wasn’t like him to look this scared. “What—-“

“I thought you were gone, they— they—-“

“Hey, hey,” the tears flow around his fingers where he holds his cheek. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, sugar.”

* * *

__(Everybody fries in Texas)__

* * *

* * *

* * *


	8. American Tradition

* * *

_He holds me in his arms but it's no good_

_Things don't go like they should_

* * *

_Jehan is chained up in the basement, sobbing as Tiefer carves lines across his back. “I promise I won’t do it again, I promise! I swear, Em! Please,” he breaks, slumping against his bonds._

_Pitiful._

_Tiefer unchains him, and carries him to the tub, where they sit, intertwined in silence._

_“I’m sorry, Emi,” Jehan whispers against the warm, damp skin of his shoulder._

_“You’ve got to learn, p’tit.” Is all he says, cleaning the wounds with a soft rag._

_They sit in the water until it becomes cold._

Jehan wanders the house in his gifts, and nothing else. His necklace is sharp against his skin, and a mottled red stain has set in where he hadn’t cleaned it well enough. It’s enticing, the urge to stick it in his mouth and suck, lavish across the groves and work the blood out with his tongue.

He does, sticking the pendant into his mouth, and humming softly, remembering the way the angel had sobbed and screamed as she was torn apart, while he was face down in her wet heat. Fucking her dismembered cunt, while Tiefer sneered that it was _pathetic this was, the only way he’d ever have the balls to fuck a woman is when she’s in pieces._

He’s half hard now, whining softly to himself as he sticks his hands further into the warm dishwater. He scrubs mercilessly, trying desperately to take his mind off how outrageously _hard_ he was. 

The warmth of Tiefer’s body startles him. He hadn’t even heard him. 

“Mmmm, what’s this?” Em pulls the pendant out with a pop, and it lands heavy, spit rolling down his belly. It makes him think of the way the blood and spit and cum had all gathered in her mouth as he fucked it. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Was thinkin’ about...” Je whines when parrain grabs his cock. “Nnngh, was.. was thinkin’ about...“ 

“Keep scrubbing,” Tiefer says with the sink of his teeth into Jehan’s shoulder. 

_“Keep scrubbing!” Tiefer snaps, looming over him, kicking at the sloshing bucket of pinesol and water. The smell of vomit permeated their living quarters._

_Jehan had thrown up on Emilein’s cock, beneath the table, as well as across it once he’d straightened back up into his chair to apologize. He’d managed “I’m so sorr-“ before expelling his lunch_.

“Please, please, Em, lemme cum, please!”

He’d gotten so painfully hard that he barely had to be touched at all before his knees began to buckle

“No,” it’s firm. No room for argument. “Not until you tell me.”

It’s filthy. The way he comes across Tiefer’s unmoving hand, just from talking about it, barely above a whisper.

“Oh,” He lifts his soiled hand to Jehan’s mouth, and makes him clean it. “How pitiful. Couldn’t even wait, could you? I barely touched you at all, _chaton,”_

His grip on the glass he’d been cleaning is wavering, and he drops it completely when Tiefer begins to pump him relentlessly. He’s nearly face first in the suds now, body spasming in the overstimulation. 

Once he’s rung another out of him, Tiefer fucks him and leaves him white knuckled at the sink. 


	9. Angels of Porn (I & II)

I

* * *

_Your fingers up inside of me_

_Feel like fingers down my throat_

_Everything is fine in heaven_

_But I'll never get to know_

_Make sacrifice in bathtubs_

_And stained bed covers_

_Soak all of my clothes in holy water_

_And drown them like a crying son_

_Drown them like a crying daughter_

_Praying in the night to the angels of porn_

_Nails in their wrists, and knees on the floor_

__Great lakes full of cum extracted from everyone_ _

* * *

_The first time Emilien pushes a firm finger inside him, it feels like acid and fire and he hates that it feels almost good, almost like love, if he were even worthy of that sort of thing. Maybe this was the only way he was._

_He kisses the top of the boy's head and pets his hair, cooing that **he was doing so well, Je, now don't squirm or it'll make it worse, hm?**_

_He kisses his mouth to mute his tears, and Jehan thinks that maybe this **was** what love was. A twisted version of it, sure, but. If this is what it took to make him worthy... he would live with it._

_It doesn't happen again for so long, that Jehan starts to think that maybe it was a nightmare, brought on by his Parrain’s favored method of discipline. Chaining him up and whipping him stupid, cutting open the backs of his legs, from the bottom of his cheeks to his heels, making his skin sew together with scar tissue like the stockings the women in movies wore._

_The next time it happens, it’s much more... violent. He’s covered in squirrel blood, the limp little body clutched in one hand, knife pried from where he’d thrown it blindly stammering in the other. It had died slowly and screaming, and he had begun to cry._

_And Jehan finds himself face down in the grass, tears streaking blood and dirt down his cheeks. He begs for it to stop, but that only seems to spur Tiefer on._

_It’s nearly constant, after that._

II

* * *

_I'd give my body to Satan_

_If I could only keep my soul_

_But I can't seem to find the split_

_Between them anymore_

* * *

They find quiet repose in the fall. 

Another angel comes and goes.

And another. 

And two more. 

And with each passing girl Jehan finds himself becoming more and more attached to the living ones. Much more willing to go out and hunt for them, picking his favorites and dragging them home, Emi in tow with knives in his boots. 

He convinces Emilien one singular time to let him do it himself. Pick her out, come behind her and take her, bring her home to him. 

She looks exactly like the photo he’d found once upon a time. She had smirked and made a snappy comment to a shop keep, and it had reminded him so much of Em that he couldn’t help but follow her home. He watches her from the bushes for a long time. He sees her shower, and scrunch her nose up in glee at the cat that hopped from the window sill to greet her. And he wants her. So desperately that it’s nearly got him hard by the time that he works up the nerves to sneak up the porch, peering for prying eyes before slipping inside and knocking her out cold in her living room. He takes his time then, looking at her. 

He peels back her lids to stare into her vacant eyes, and that’s when he decides for sure. That this one, she would be his. 

(She isn’t, of course. They never are. Never for him. And somewhere deep down he knows that. He couldn’t keep them, no matter how much he ached to.)

They fight, that night. When Em asks how he managed, and he’d explained meekly that he’d **_stalked her, Jehan? Fuckin’ Christ boy, if someone saw you I swear I’ll fuckin’ skin ya and sell ya ta the highest bidder._**

****

He pleads to keep her.

And his request is denied, over and over until he feels he’ll explode from it. He wants her. Her. Forever. The last angel. 

And when Emilien kills her, right there in the living room, and goads her to scream his name, _Jehan help me please Jehan please don’t let him kill me please_

He breaks. 


	10. A Marvelous Persona

* * *

_“Oh, Pipkin, what’s happened to you?”_

_”I’m... dying,”_

* * *

The sound of the gunshot rings in his ears. The shell clatters to the floor. 

The blood drips rhythmically onto the hardwood. And never quite comes up. Not even after all the scrubbing. 


	11. You’re So Cool

* * *

_You carry all that suffering_

_Like a gun between your arms_

_You told me:_

_”When I’m good, I’m very good_

_but when I’m bad, I’m better,_

_I’m yours forever, I’m yours forever”_

* * *

The gators thrash at the boat, nearly knocking him out of it with their efforts, the scent of fresh blood making them frenzied. It had been too long since they’d last been fed. 

He drops the pieces into the water, one by one, watching the way the beasts twist around the limbs and turn the murky green water an ugly black. 

The cleaned skull sits, unmoving, in his bedroom, on his nightstand. 

And each night, he would kiss it, and bid it goodnight. 

Some years later, Jehan would go out on the town, in an old red truck, and an old leather jacket draped over his shoulders. And he would lure in a man who stands _too close_ and _touches_ him as he passes by. 

And then he would take his daughter. And keep her. 

And the locket that swung from his neck would never open, for fear of losing the tufts of blonde he’d tied with a ribbon and sliced from Tiefer’s head as he’d bled to death in their living room. And the black stain, and the hole in the floor would be hidden by the rug, and the cycle would continue. 

* * *

_And I see the future,_

_and there’s no death,_

_cause you and I,_

__we’re angels_ _

* * *


End file.
